


First Flirts

by Dmonius



Series: Teenage Dreams [1]
Category: DCU
Genre: AU - High School, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-14
Updated: 2012-01-14
Packaged: 2017-10-29 12:38:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/319963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dmonius/pseuds/Dmonius
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Picture Dick, Tim and all the other young DC heros on a usual highschool at Metropolis without any superpowers :)</p>
            </blockquote>





	First Flirts

“Why don't you just go and talk to him?”  
“Me? Talk to him? No way.”  
Shayera rolled her eyes and breathed out rather loud before she raised her hand and waved at Dick and Roy, who where standing on the other side of the crowded cafeteria. “Dick,” she called. “Over here.”  
“Why did you do that?” Wally exclaimed, and ignored the annoyed look of Donna Prince's little sister who was sitting on the table on the left. Shayera looked much more slyly and intimidating back, and then focused on Dick Wayne and Ray Queen, the two “stars” of the Metropolis Western High. They both wore sweater vests that certainly were not bought at the mall around the corner, as both their fathers were probably paying for half the parents whose childs were eating in this room and had enough money to finance most projects around town.  
“I'm bored with someone sitting next to me who has no guts to react out of impulse.” Shayera ruffed his hair and kissed him on the cheek, when she grabbed his arm right the moment he wanted to grab her burger. She squeezed before she said: “And never do that again.”  
“Youresomeanyouknowthatdontyou?” Wally said, as fast as his tongue could move and still quiet enough that the two other boys couldn't hear him on their approach. Shayera still grinned when they sat down and let go of Wally's hand.  
“Thanks for saving a place,” Dick said. He gave her one of these honest smiles which made him much less devious and gruesome than the red-haired boy next to him. Shayera couldn't say that she was a member of Roy Queen's fan club – which certainly existed –, but she did not really anything against him either.  
“You're welcome,” Shayera said. “So, how's it going?”  
“Fine,” Dick said. “Wally, what's it your eating?”  
“Oh, that's...eh...,” Wally turned red what left his face and his hair in the same color and looked away.  
Shayera had to roll her eyes another time, and addressed Roy to bypass the weird look on Dick's face. Dick was still smiling at Wally, but didn't say a thing and looked away sooner than later.  
“Roy, you're also in Miss Lance biology group, right?”  
“Yeah, Dick, too. You, too, Wally?” Roy asked.  
“Yesyes,” Wally said, and nodded rather quickly. Shayera had to hold her gaze on Roy to not roll with her eyes. It became quite a custom.  
“What do you guys think about having the four of us working together on the project? We still have to form teams.” Shayera smiled at Wally, and nodded into Roy's and Dick's direction.  
“Yeah, teams of five,” Dick said. “What about Donna as the last participant?”  
“Donna Prince? Nah, I don't know,” Roy said. “I don't like her that much. What about Kyle Jordan?”  
“I like her,” Dick said, and Shayera had to squeeze Wally's thigh under the table to prevent him from turning red again.  
“So, when shall we met? How about Thursday night, my place?” Shayera asked. “I'll text Donna, and who brings what? Wally?”  
***  
After the short lunch break, Tim and Cassie entered the room where they were supposed to have their Creative Writing class with Mr. Stewart. As usual, they had their seats in the next-to-last line where he and the blonde girl sat down directly next to each other, and sighed. Why Tim had actually decided to take this course instead of science and history, he couldn't really tell anymore. It probably had something to do with Cassie who was texting her mother with her sneaky new iPhone.  
“I don't feel like Creative Writing,” Tim said.  
“It's fun, so shut up,” Cassie remarked while the other students entered and filled the room. “I've got more important stuff to think about than your unwillingness for the creative arts. Eat your sandwich for example.”  
“And they say you're the nicer sister.”  
“You never really got to know Donna, Tim. And by the way, I like Dick better as well.”  
“We should switch siblings, you mean?”  
“And get Damian instead? No way.”  
Tim smirked at Cassie when Mr. John “the Colonel” Stewart entered the room accompanied by another student, probably a new guy. He was handsome. Broad shoulders, real muscles underneath the tight shirt, gelled hair and strong, firm hands made up the picture, but the glasses did not really fit in there. Cassie whistled in appreciation, but the new student looked around in the class and laid his eyes on Tim where they stayed long enough for him to notice. The boy blinked, but Tim just looked bored away.  
“Kids, we've got a new student. His name is Conner Kent and he just got right back from a small lazy town in Kansas called Littleto--”  
“Smallville,” Conner interrupted him. He looked around, and remarked: “And not everything there was actually small.”  
This got him a few laughs (Cassie, not Tim, laughed), but Mr. Stewart still looked stullen and quite unimpressed. “Right,” he said. “Take a seat, class starts now.”  
When Conner passed by him and took the seat in the back (and Tim got a look at those arms), the usual boredom started. Why the heck a military colonel like Mr. Stewart – who surely would have been a great sports teacher – came to give Creative Writing, wasn't on the list of things Tim could explain without any thinking about. The only rather interested student was Cassie who –  
At the point of contemplation, he got hit by a ball of paper (which hadn't happened since he turned twelve); he turned around and looked at the smirking, blinking Conner Kent.  
And then it him him. Kent. Kansas.  
Clark Kent. Kara Kent. Conner Kent. Smallville. Kansas. Kent. Clark Kent.  
The “friend” his adoptive father usually went out with each Saturday night came into Tim's mind, and with the glasses, the hair and the muscles the relation of the two was utterly clear. Tim looked disapprovingly – which he had gotten used to since Damian moved into the Manor – and turned back to the front to lay his eyes on Connor Hawke's blond back of the head. At that point, he got hit by another ball of paper and saw the same smirk, the same blink and the same arms.  
“Jerk,” he whispered, and just made the usual hand movement to Cassie which they had agreed on to say something like “I'm gonna tell your later.”  
He couldn't even have entered the destined point of contemplation again, when another ball of paper arrived and landed on his notebook. This time, he did not look back, but took the ball of paper closer to himself and stretched it.  
Written in a rather unusual style of writing, he saw a number written on it, a number and an e-Mail address (therealsuperboy@metropolismail.com), along with a small question, containing two simple words: “What's yours?”  
Tim rolled his eyes and threw the paper away.  
***  
There were a few things Bruce really had to be resilient about; they usually involved the time they were allowed to be outside at night, the homework which had to be done rather thoroughly and of course attending each soirée and dinner party that was held at Wayne Manor. In addition to that, one requirement of being Bruce Wayne's ward was of course the limousine that Alfred usually had to pick up them with from school.  
Dick was used to this kind of cliché that was the reason for most of the gossip about him and his siblings, but Tim especially wasn't that much a friend of the unusual custom.  
“Why doesn't he get you a car on your own?” Tim asked.  
“You mean like Roy?”  
“For example. He got a Porsche on his 16th brithday. Is it too much to ask for a small car that I can call my own?”  
“Even though I'm not in the position to say or present something,” Alfred said from the driver's seat, “it might be inappropriate to ask for a car when you're not even having a driving licence, Master Timothy.”  
“Oh, come on, Alfred.”  
“And, just by the way, you think it would be more appropriate to avoid the impression of 'showing off' by driving a Porsche instead of being picked up by a limousine?”  
“He has a point, little brother,” Dick said and smirked. “Don't worry, when you get 14 and I get 18, I'll give you a ride from time to time.”  
“I'm nearly 16, Dick,” Tim remarked pointedly.  
“See how it's in your nature? You're just showing off!”  
“Oh, shut up,” Tim said.  
He waited until two crossways had gone by and approached his older brother with a different topic: “Did you know that Clark Kent has a son?”  
“He has a son? I thought Kara was his cousin...and a girl.”  
“I think Master Timothy might be referring to Mr. Conner Kent, Mr. Kent's cousin,” Alfred remarked. “He just moved in a week ago, and he is going to stay with Mr. Kent.”  
“Oh, another cousin?” Dick asked. “What's with him?”  
“He is in my Creative Writing class. He's a jerk.”  
“Oh...did he throw your pencils away? Or flirt with your best friend, so you had no one to talk to?”  
“He threw something at me, actually,” Tim said. “And he also did some flirting. He wanted to give me his number.”  
“Oh, little bird...what did you do?” Dick inquired him.  
“I threw it away!?”  
“You're such a jerk sometimes! Look, dear Jason, up in that high tower of the military school he was sent to, would have been more than delighted to have gotten that kind of attention!”  
“Why? It was for Cassie, I'm sure.”  
“As if you were...,” Dick remarked and laughed the whole way to Wayne Manor.


End file.
